


The House

by LadyRedCrest (your_icequeen)



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen, I've never written anything so gen., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:57:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_icequeen/pseuds/LadyRedCrest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The House where Gibbs lived. Transferred from LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The House

Neighborhood children, now grown into adults with children of their own, used to speak in whispers of The House in the middle of the street. The way that kids do when they tell scary stories around a flashlight at a sleepover. And that is what they called it: The House.

The House was quiet, set back from the road a bit and usually dark. There was no candy handed out at Halloween and definitely never any decorations displayed (except for a lonely American flag that stayed out year round).

The owner of The House was an older man and well, no one really spoke to him except for the occasional ‘hello,’ which he usually responded to with a grunt and partial wave. The children’s rumors about him ranged from some sort of monster, which would eat kids and terrorize animals at night, to a big bad spy for the government.

Occasionally, they would see other people enter The House and the kids would come up with reasons for their visits, but those people always left. Some people they only saw once, maybe twice, but others were constants over their grade school years: the girl with black pigtails, the man with the sporty car and the bald guy who usually wore a trench coat.

The one they saw more than others though, was the guy with the car. Well, they didn’t see him very often, but they saw his car. It started out only being there a couple of times a month. Then once for a weekend, and then back to a couple of times a month for a few years. Nothing for months and then almost every day.

It was the almost everyday that got the child rumor-mill running at full steam; not that the man visited so frequently but the little changes that came with him.

It started out as a single un-carved pumpkin on the front step on Halloween. Followed by a few strands of blinking outdoor Christmas lights, inexpertly strung in the bushes during December. Shortly after the moving van came and went, a USMC flag went up next to the constant that was the Stars and Stripes. And the next Halloween saw not only a goofily carved pumpkin, but a couple of bales of hay and a straw scarecrow.

With every passing year The House came to life a little more. The occasional light could be seen from a room other than the basement. And if the curtains were open and the neighborhood children were out later than they should be, a television could be spotted through the downstairs window.

Soon, the owner of the house was more visible. He was slightly older now, came and went more frequently during the day than he used to, and was even seen smiling a few times. Polo shirts and slacks were replaced with sweatshirts, t-shirts and jeans. And the rumors that he was the monster under children’s beds disappeared.

This year though, would be one the neighborhood children would remember.

The man with the now new sporty car left in a taxi one Tuesday morning, suitcase in hand. And the owner left shortly thereafter, in the beat-up pickup truck usually reserved for trips to the lumberyard. He returned with boxes and boxes of freshly bought decorations and a large full tree.

The now stay-at-home moms and dads watched as the man cut off the bottom of the tree and took it into The House. From the boxes on the porch he pulled strands of white lights which were hung with the utmost care on trees, bushes and the eaves. Next came a light up Santa and sled that (once assembled) found their place on the lawn. Red Solar lanterns placed along the driveway to The House began to take on color almost immediately.

When night finally fell, the rest of the boxes were taken inside. And from the opened window anyone could see the baubles that found their way to the tree that stood in a place of honor next to the fireplace. New ornaments barely out of the packaging dangled on branches, next to old ones carefully painted and colored by a child’s hand. The angel on top flickered to life when the owner flipped the switch on the wall, taking in his handiwork.

The next evening the man was just finishing putting the presents under the tree, each one painstakingly wrapped, when the taxi pulled up to the curb. He made it to the door just in time to see the man with the sporty car step out of the cab, mouth open in awe of The House before him. He fished some bills out of his wallet for the driver, and walked up the driveway, taking in every light, every glow, no matter how faint or bright, like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Making his way into The House, he froze in the open doorway before moving on and walking to the owner. While none of the neighborhood children could hear the words between them, the kiss was that obvious through the open window said everything that needed to be said…

The House had finally become a Home.


End file.
